“And a couple gold coins?” Benjy asked. “We can’t exactly walk around slitting purses. Besides, those don’t look like any queenscoins I’ve seen so far. They’re not round. Watch the guard hold it up. . . . See? They’re squarish. It’s probably a special token.”

Ayla blew out a breath. “Maybe we could—cut the ribbon off someone’s wrist? Without them noticing? Or, or . . .” She cast her eyes around the crowd of people waiting to be let inside the gates. The costumed actors, a few more humans also dressed to entertain, a large group of Automae. Nobles, probably. They looked like the leeches who had come from all corners of Zulla to attend Lady Crier’s engagement ball. Throats and wrists dripping with jewelry, threads of silver and gold woven into their hair, their clothing the finest velvet and silk brocade. Ayla saw one woman in sea-green silk pants and a gold-embroidered doublet, her arms bare, her hair in a thick plait that reached almost to the small of her back. Unlike most, she wasn’t wearing a mask. When she glanced in the direction of the crowd, Ayla could see her mouth was painted gold.

“Ayla,” said Benjy. “You with me?”

She cleared her throat. “I have an idea.”

Without waiting for Benjy to respond, she hurried back into the thick of the crowd, making a beeline for the tables of food. She grabbed the nearest platter—a big silver dish of crab cakes—and dumped the contents into a basket of oranges, darting away before anyone noticed. Platter in hand, she returned to Benjy.

He raised his eyebrows. “So . . . what’s the idea?”

“Follow my lead,” she said. “And for gods’ sake, act deferent.”

“What—?”

Ayla bowed her head and curled her shoulders in, making herself smaller. Taking up as little space as possible. Then, ignoring the line of humans and Automae waiting to be let inside the palace walls, she headed for the guards. There were six stationed at the palace gates: three checking bracelets, three watching the crowd. Platter held out in front of her like an offering, Ayla quickened her pace, scurrying up to one of the watchers, sinking into a deep curtsy. She heard Benjy’s footsteps behind her and could only hope he was bowing.

“Sir,” she said, speaking to the guard’s shiny black boots. “We were ordered to fetch more crab cakes and heartstone.”

“More heartstone already?” the guard asked. “The night’s only just begun.”

“Everyone’s feeling very indulgent, sir.”

“At this rate they’ll deplete the queen’s stores by midnight. Why are you out of uniform?”

Ayla snorted. “Some drunk bastard spilled half a casket of wine over the both of us, sir. I believe he was reenacting ‘The Sailor and the Sea Serpent.’” She paused. “It’s an old human story about—”

“I do not require an explanation,” said the guard. Ayla risked a glance. His masked face was turned to the crowd again. “Fetch everything quickly,” he continued, dismissive. “And get back into uniform. You are servants to the queen; you should look it.”